


Aziraphale and the Dragon

by Quannon



Series: Good Omens Character Studies [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:27:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21703003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quannon/pseuds/Quannon
Summary: or how dragons got their rep
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens Character Studies [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564321
Kudos: 13





	Aziraphale and the Dragon

**Author's Note:**

> The violence is implied but doesn't happen.

Aziraphale was almost squirming. He had to keep from actually squirming because he was sitting in the Archangel Michael’s office on a replica hard oak clerk’s stool; definitely on the “naughty seat” even if Michael didn’t know that term. They had summoned him, or more accurately, yanked him away from a perfectly good dinner, to their office to discuss art history. 

It turns out that someone squealed, er, informed Michael that they had become aware of a proliferation of human artwork depicting them as dragon slayers. Sometimes St. George was tapped for the starring role, but more and more depictions of Michael righteously slaying dragon after dragon were popping up all over Europe and the middle east. While slaying any of the Adversary’s beasts was a worthwhile endeavor, they would not have been directly involved with so many lesser “extinctions”. Discorporating or actually ending greater demons or Lucifer themself would be Michael’s glorious battles. So … why were humans depicting them as some kind of glorified pest control officer and what was Aziraphale doing about it?

Aziraphale tried to think of something quickly to sooth Michael’s irritation, but dissembling had never been his strong suit. While not actually lying, dissembling did skirt the fine line of lying by omission and changing the topic. Michael was looking as though Aziraphale’s own discorporation might in the offing making him blurt out the first thing he could think of. “As you know Michael, humans can get some pretty bizarre ideas into their heads. When they do that, there is not much I can do to affect their thinking. I do try to suggest to them that you should be depicted with the utmost respect. By and large I think they’ve done that.” He smiled hopefully up at Michael who was striding around their office. Possibly stomping would be a better description. “It will run its course and fade from the public eye. These things always do.”

Michael stopped striding/stomping right in front of him and fixed Aziraphale with a steely eye. Aziraphale didn’t remember if he’d ever seen a “steely eye” before. “Evil eye”, “heart eye”, “blind eye”, “third eye” – this one is hard to describe but those Tibetan monks were very adept-, “eagle eye”, and “red eye” – he’d seen all of those. But actual “looks like steel” eyes? He was sure this was a new experience since Michael’s eyes were only 12 inches away from his own and he had never seen eyes like that before. Maybe he had had to wait for the Bronze Age to pass. 

“Principality Aziraphale, as our representative on Earth, it is YOUR responsibility to guide humans for the glory of God. Allowing them to depict my person in this station is NOT guiding them to the glory of God!!!”

There wasn’t physical glass to crack and shatter at that, but there was a heavenly surround sound effect (not really so heavenly on second thought) that allowed Aziraphale to experience what that would have been like; a sort of emulated ear drum burst followed by a stabbing pain through his head, and dismounting into an almost nosebleed. Aziraphale did not gulp. Really, he didn’t gulp. When he thought he could speak and not squeak he offered, “Michael, may I enquire what artworks you have seen? Perhaps there is symbolism there that we haven’t yet noticed.” Buying time was always a good option.

Michael did not turn their eyes away; just waved a hand and a floating image of Durer’s 1498 Michael Slaying the Dragon woodcut appeared. Aziraphale’s eyes shifted slightly to the right to view the image. He did not move anything else. 

As best he could examine out of the corners of his eyes, he couldn’t see anything particularly disrespectful in the wood block. 

Michael, keeping Aziraphale pinned with his gaze, pointed sharply at the other figures. “If I’m ‘slaying’ this dragon, why do I need three other angels to help me? It’s ridiculous! Why would the leader of the Angelic host need three other angels to help them kill vermin? And I don’t even have my sword!!! It’s a pole or a lance or something! As if I would ever…. “ They snorted indignantly. Suddenly they moved back and swiftly collapsed into their chair behind their desk still keeping him pinned with their eyes.

Images flashed through Aziraphale’s mind as he groped for the right words to sooth Michael. Crowley, the scamp, had decided to take a series of long naps between the 800’s and the 1500’s. When he did that, he frequently changed to his lowest resting state, a snake, to conserve energy. And to top it off, he would slink off to caves in the mountains thinking that humans wouldn’t ever find him there. Well, that kind of behavior might have worked before the Flood, but there were people everywhere now. He was bound to be discovered and it would cause trouble. And now that there was the Arrangement, Aziraphale had to continually sort these things out.

This depiction was from Crowley napping in a cave in Germany. Sure enough, boys from the village had found him out. By the time Aziraphale had become aware of what was going on, the men from the village had decided to go up to the cave and eliminate the “dragon” because surely that was what was causing bad weather and foreign invasions. To make matters worse, sometimes if Crowley had had a nightmare, he did seem to be breathing fire. Of course it was only a form of demonic night emission, but there is was: fire-breathing dragon in the flesh. It was only worse if he dreamed he had his wings out at the same time: a demonic form of sleep walking. The only good thing about that is that he never actually flew. But he did get robbed a couple of times creating the myth that “dragons like to sleep on their treasure”. Hrmph… when he got ahold of that demon THERE WOULD BE WORDS.

“I don’t think this is just any lowly dragon, Michael.” Aziraphale attempted. “It is a multi-headed dragon. To humans that would make it a very dangerous beast. And it has wings, so possibly this dragon is meant to be a depiction of Lucifer themself. Slaying Lucifer would certainly be a deed befitting your expertise, would it not?”

Michael harrumped again but did look away.

Aziraphale gave them some space to digest that. What had actually happened was that the villagers had made it to the cave before Aziraphale could get there to wake Crowley up. They had managed to sneak up on him (really, it was so lax not to have any wards up at all!) and pin him to the ground with, ironically, a long handled pitchfork. Just as they were about to discorporate him with a meat cleaver, Aziraphale had arrived and sent soothing, calming emotions into the mob, er, crowd that caused the humans to stop for a moment and spiritually smell the flowers (not that there were any actual flowers but .. oh bother .. this analogy isn’t working he thought). 

In the meantime, Aziraphale had tried to pick up the Crowley snake and abscond with him before the humans got their senses back. Crowley did not work with him on this. He partially woke up and started flipping around trying to get away from Aziraphale and to dislodge the pitchfork at the same time. He was very fast, possibly making it look like he had more heads than one. For his part, Aziraphale was trying to hang on to him for dear life and fly away and (triple tasking here) pull the tines off the snake by holding him down with his foot and yanking on the pitchfork which was stuck. 

The calming spell began to lift at this point. To the humans it looked like a battle in the air between a snake and OMG an ANGEL!!! 

Aziraphale peripherally became aware that the humans could see them again. Now he had to make this whole mess look like some kind of glorious heavenly battle. So he made up some dialogue. He was eternally grateful that wood cuts didn’t have narratives. “Begone foul fiend! Get thee behind me Satan! Return to your netherworld and bother us no more!” At this point, Crowley did manage to wake up enough to take in the situation and promptly played dead. Aziraphale miracled him away to the other side of the hill and then gently floated up into the air hoping to convince the villagers that he had returned to heaven and it was ok to move along, nothing to see here.

“Why don’t I have my sword?” Michael asked waspishly.

Aziraphale thought for a moment. “The other three angels are carrying your equipment. Human knights are like this. The knight does all the battling, but he has other humans that take care of his equipment. From their point of view, you are the knight battling the evil dragon with your servants there to hand you anything you need.” Warming to his topic he added, “And even though this is a multi-headed winged dragon, possibly Lucifer himself, you only need a spear to vanquish him. It’s a testament to your strength and skill!” He kind of wished for a moment that he’d gone with the idea that possibly the three other angels were incompetent and needed Michael’s help, but too late now.

Michael thought about that. “Well it is true that humans don’t actually know anything about me.” They looked again at the wood cut. “They might not know that I always use my sword. Or that dragons are like, like …” words failed them. “What do humans call vermin?”

“Rats or cockroaches.”

“Yes. Rats.” Michael rolled that around on their tongue for a moment. “Like rats, not worth sending Heaven’s Soldier for.”

Aziraphale gave it a moment to consolidate. “I think you are on to something there, Michael. They don’t know that. But they do know to revere you. These depictions are given pride of place wherever they are hung for viewing. I can assure you they are treated with the utmost respect and awe.”

Michael began to calm down. They stared off into space for a few minutes and then slowly turned their attention back to Aziraphale. “Well, that’s all well and good. I don’t really care what silly ideas humans have as long as we’re encouraging them to be in God’s good grace. My own place is beside the point.”

Aziraphale had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from some kind of exposition.

“You may go back to, ah, to whatever it was you were doing. Dismissed.” Michael picked up a paper from their desk and Aziraphale beat a retreat to the escalator home. 

It was a good job no one had told Michael about that time in Wales when someone had gotten a really good look at Crowley’s red underbelly. That time when Aziraphale came to rescue him from “the villagers” they had both gotten trapped in a limited binding spell from the mead they had drunk to celebrate Crowley’s escape. That had turned in to the legend of a red Welsh dragon and a white invading dragon. No “Michael” about it. The red dragon now shows up as a royal symbol of Wales. Crowley never lets him hear the end of that when he thinks of it. Merlin really has a few things to answer for.


End file.
